Nothing would make more sense than to share with you -on Memorial Day- my day at a police station. No, I wasn’t arrested. Although, I’m not opposed to a little role play. I’m waiting for my number to be called and I hear a man’s voice elevate. Since, I’m pretty nosey, I turn around to look and all I hear the guy saying is, “Ma’am… what am I supposed to do? I’m trying to register my guns…” Blah. Blah. blah.. “because of my felonies.” Wait. What?! Maybe I misheard. Eavesdropping is never an accurate way to spread gossip. He’s wearing an old t-shirt with the arms cut off and it reads, “Shoot Responsibly.” Nope. I heard him correctly. This guy is trying to register his guns in his new city -thank you responsible gun owner- but can’t… because he’s also the proud owner of two felonies. I retract the adjective “responsible,” from my previous statement. Yet, still think role playing would be fun. I don’t believe you can legally possess firearms with felonies on your record. Looking around for any sign of this on the walls. Nope. Nothing. But I’m pretty sure… In any city -or state! for that matter- across the United States. At least, as far as I’m aware, I’m pretty close to dead on with this one. Why does this law sound so new to this guy? The officer is trying to communicate that he must surrender them.. without really telling him to surrender him. “Sir. I cannot ADVISE you on what to do. BUT, you will NEED to do what is in YOUR best interest.” I don’t think Elmer Fudd is putting it together. But then again, Elmer Fudd never quite figured out how that rascally wrabbit always outwitted him. Some light bulbs only operate on dim. There’s no other logical explanation. No, really, none what-so-ever.
After that cartoonish fiasco died down, I was back to boredom in the lobby when I hear, what I believe is a stripper, behind my chair, arguing with her boyfriend in that whiny Kardashian dialect; But, is rocking hot pink -and matted- hair, long socks and too many piercings to count. Oh my gosh, I can’t wait to hear how this pans out. This is going to be good. Pretending to be nose-deep in my book… and, NOT, her phone conversation… I slide down into my chair in a more slouchy position. Because thats going to help me hear better. I’m sure of it. Now I have nothing against any of these aesthetic attributes separately; But, put them all together and I twinge with angst. Maybe she doesn’t know how dirty she looks. I’m pretty sure I would never buy a lap dance from her. No, I’m very sure. And I don’t find bruises under your layers of fishnet stockings and chucks sexy. Not even a little bit. Call me old fashioned. Life management can be arguably defined by wardrobe choices. Or lack of shower choices. Ode toilet? English translation… she smelled like ass. Or the puttering of speech over why she feels she doesn’t have the time to make sure her paperwork is in order for her ‘independent contractor” business. Her words not mine. Verbatim. Maybe she’s a creative type. Maybe she’s not good with numbers. Maybe she shouldn’t be in charge of her own business if she can’t add two plus two. Or twenties. Either way, today’s experience makes me want to visit police stations more often. Who knew the entertainment value would be in the high nines?!
Let’s keep this Memorial Day going with yet another visit to Ikea. I need shelving. Two more visits later. And a curtain rod. With a canteen of Vino. Don’t judge me… it’s a holiday. Listen, party animals… like tweety bird in her forties, shopping in her sparkly spaghetti strap top and jean shorts -at three in the afternoon- clueless to any kind daytime fashion faux pas. Ain’t no rest for the wicked, huh Lady Luck? Here… have a sip of my grown up juice. You seem like the type to hide liquor in your baby’s sippy cup. What a great day! Today’s adventure wouldn’t be complete without trying our luck with some mall sushi. You know, the sushi restaurants they have in the malls? I’m sure thats the freshest fish around. Drink up that sake, it may be your last. And why not be inebriated before your last meal. I gotta say, my excursion was complete when I found myself seated next to Elmer Fudd at the sushi bar. Who proceeds to tell me that he ended up just saying screw it. If the police want to arrest him they’d have to find him first. “Aint no way in hell my gon give up my rifles.”
Right on man. Cheers to that! Here… let me introduce you to someone. Lady Luck just ordered us a round of sashimi. Indulge. What could go wrong?
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